Casters and carvers

His new house
rose well above the surrounding houses, but that
wasn’t too hard in this old neighbourhood. One of his sons let us in while
leaving the building, and subsequently sped away in a shiny new sports car.

On the top
floor an elderly man was sitting in lotus position, his belly resting on
crossed legs. He was turning a small mill to fan the flame of a wood fire. In a
small pan he was melting dark brown wax with which he touched up – very meticulously – a small Buddha head.

He did not
mind our intrusion. However, taking a picture, he brushed aside. From a corner
of the otherwise empty floor I stood watching, thinking: all statue makers in
this country recognize him as the absolute master.

Dalai lama,
king or movie star, every new customer queued up, as a matter of course. The
waiting could take years, but complaining would have little effect. Every client
realised that bargaining would only backfire. His pricing was a statement.

Gradually I
realized: if Newars currently create the finest Buddhist images in the world,
if they themselves regard the old man on this clay floor as their absolute
master, then… in any other country he would be world-famous.

The opposite seemed
true more: hardly a year later I noticed in passing the little local newspaper someone
was reading. My eye spotted the pale photograph amidst the Nepalese script.

- Hey, isn’t
that Siddhiraj?

‘Yeah. He passed
away last week.’

Why are Newar
statues so often of the highest quality? After all, everywhere in the world
images are made in wax, then casted and lastly patinated. With the Newar,
however, the cast is only the beginning, the initial design.

Then, by deeply
carving and chiseling the cast, every detail is refined and sharpened and therefore
changed. Even the face, lotus, arms, attire.. big parts may get a different
shape in the process.

This makes
each statue a unique piece.

To
differentiate in importance between cast and carving makes little sense. Only
together can they produce a high quality image. Even though the proportions
come from the maker of the wax model and the expressiveness out of the hands of
the carver.

If necessary,
the latter may improve on the original proportions.

The
complicated casting process does not only constitute a profession in its own right,
but is also expensive, dangerous and hectic. During the critical casting period
the foundry loves to have some extra, professional hands (see: here) – and all laymen
outside the gate.

Consequently,
there are numerous artists who purchase casts from colleagues to work on. After
all, casting and carving are different professions. It is not necessary for an
artist to master both.

The
individualistic westerner usually thinks that a piece of art should be made by
the artist himself. Otherwise ‘I can think of something and have it made in
China as well.’

After yet
another uproarious launching of a new work by Damien Hirst, the more sedate
David Hockney added to his exhibition poster: ‘All art by the artist himself.’

Before long he
removed line. Indeed. Who made his paint, who stretched his canvas, who made
his brush or easel? Even art is a matter of collaboration. No wonder that old art
often remains anonymous?

Last November
an elderly statue maker led me to a room on a higher floor in his house to show
me something. He doesn’t work much any more, his son took over the family
workshop. Traditionally they only work with brass. This alloy is easier to cast
– it smoothly rolls into all cavities – but the end result is too hard and too
brittle to refine any further.

The small
room turns out to be furnished with great care. Immaculate – and that’s pretty
remarkable. At casters’ and carvers’ there is usually a trail of metal scrap running
from the workshop to the living area. On their way they seem to have forgotten
what they were working on: even besides the bed you may find loose arms or
Buddha heads.

A copper
statue - of about one meter height - stands out in the middle of the room. As
the body has been patinated darkly, the gilded face is even more striking.

I recognize
it as a cast by Siddhiraj and inquire whether it is for sale as well.

He sighs and
ponders for a while.

‘It must be
some forty years that I have had it. All these years I kept it here, this is my
own little room.’

He doubts and
seems to consider many things simultaneously.

‘Obviously
there comes a moment – and an opportunity – that I’d better sell it.’

When I pass
by the next day to hand over the money, the son mumbles in a slightly
disgruntled tone: ‘You are getting a beautiful statue and we are getting some
paper in return…’

Suddenly I
get a hunch – perhaps entirely unfounded - that dear son inherits the house
including the workshop and that the paterfamilias passes on this summ of money – while he still can – to dear daughter.

Once departed,
I recalled having seen another Siddhiraj’ cast, somewhere in an expensive gallery on Kingsway.
The statue proved still to be there and they allowed me to photograph it.

In the
nineties I traded yet another end result of this specific Siddhiraj’ cast:

Consequently,
I can show here three end results of the same cast next to each other. Each of
the same size, of course, and chiseled by different artists in different time
periods.